Sherlock Just after the fall
by Sherlocked Kat
Summary: Spoilers alert! If you haven't watched the whole of the second season then please turn back now! For the rest, please read if you want to find out! Thks. Story on HIATUS for now. I don't know whether I should continue or not.
1. Chapter 1

**Disclaimer: I sadly do not own Sherlock, but if I did we would already have season 3 out!**

**Copyrighted by Sherlocked Kat. (Although can be used for inspirations)**

* * *

John Watson sat down eagerly on a very familiar chair not wanting to know the truth. He had gone to his councilor in pursuit of help within coming over a death.

After seeing Sherlock plummet to his end, all hope was lost for John Watson. Not only was he without a close friend, but every time he walked into the room of 221B Baker Street, he would always picture that moment where he looked forward to seeing what Sherlock was up to next. But just as he advanced to the memory of Sherlock plucking his violin, John would burst into half sobs, half tears. Little did he know that Sherlock would always be watching him through the windows of the opposite building.

"So how do you feel after his death?" asked his councilor.

"Pardon? Oh, uh, I'm not coping very well actually. That's why I came to see you."

"I would have realized that John. But what is your life like now at home without him?"

"Well, it's been very hard… hang on a second; I thought I told you I was not gay with him."

"I acknowledge that John, but just what are you feeling? Are you feeling depressed? Angry, frustrated?" Just then the room was filled with the sound of shattering glass. Turning around, both of them saw the windows suddenly crashing inwards with vague shadows pouring into the room. The councilor was murdered having been shot through the head (It didn't bother John too much as he never had a thing for her), and John shortly put up a fight. John neared one of the dark figures and punched him straight in the nose. He then turned around and got into a wrestle with another figure. There was the sound of gun fire and smashing glass filling the room. It was a miracle that the next door neighbors didn't hear a thing. While being wrestled and pushed about, the third figure picked John up and tossed him. John landed uncomfortably on a wooden table, sending splinters flying through the air. As John was struggling to get himself up from the wreckage, a big bulky man dressed in black picked John up by his shirt and head-butted him. John finally fell unconscious and tumbled to the floor.

* * *

"… this isn't Sherlock… where the hell is he…" John woke up hearing murmurs of the assassin's conversations. He then rolls over feeling a numb ache in the back of his head.

"Oi!" shouts another assassin in the back of the black Landrover. 'Thump', John rolled onto his other side in pain. Realizing he was on the floor of the vehicle he tried to look around. As hard as he might all he saw was the inside of a black sack over his head.

"Hey! Where are you taking me? What the hell is goi…?" 'Thwack', the last thing he felt was a kick in the head then he blacked out.

* * *

John woke up in a room, tied down to a small rusty chair. Closing his eyes from the blinding lights he turned his gaze down upon the floor. Having gotten used to his surroundings, he noticed that the room smelled like rotten eggs. There was wallpaper peeling from the corners and there was even a toilet, although it was not a pretty sight to see, the area surrounding it was filled with dirt and rubbish. Upon hearing a door open and close, John slowly turned his head towards the source of the noise. Pain welling up inside him, he tried to speak but failed in doing so. Managing to take in another tight and agonizing breath, the mysterious man confronted him.

"Intel would like to know where Sherlock Holmes is, so we are only asking you once. Where is he located?" bellowed the five foot nine man in dark shades.

"What do you mean where is he? He's dead, deceased, gone to heaven. Had his head smashed in after he fell off St. Bartholomew's Hospital."

Still trying to regain consciousness, John saw that the man was wearing a particularly expensive suit. A pink tie, shiny black leather shoes and a vertically striped suit jacket and trousers; John apprehended that this was not the type of man to get into a fight with.

"We need answers now. Don't try and tell me that you don't know where your friend is. We can easily kill you, right here and right now. So tell me Dr. Watson, where is he situated?" barked the man.

"I already told you he's dead! Why can't you just leave me alone?" John wept upon the subject, "I don't know anything!"

"Well obviously you are a fool to think that Sherlock would have killed himself like that. So is Jim Moriarty's assassin. Everyone knows that if Sherlock was to kill himself it would be in glory not in vain."

"So what are you trying to tell me?"

"I'm trying to tell you that if you don't start giving answers I'll have no choice but to kill you."

"But I told you I don't know where he is."

The man pulled out a hand pistol. "Then I'll have to shoot you." The man took aim at John's forehead when suddenly he was tripped over by someone behind him. Just as the man made contact with the floor, he pulled the trigger and shot John in the calf. John howled in pain. The agony of the bullet going through his leg was excruciating. He'd already had the experience of a bullet through his left shoulder but this was much worse. The large amount of blood loss from the bullet wound made his thoughts merge together. John's vision blurred as he hit the ground and all he could see was the pool of blood on the floor and a leg of a pair of black trousers in front of him.

* * *

_**AN: Hello guys! This is my first fanfic! Please review!**_

_**Sherlocked Kat**_


	2. Chapter 2

"Sorry about the leg," a familiar voice called, "I intended to rescue you not to get you injured."

John woke up lying on a couch. Sitting up, he found himself wrapped in a blanket. He tried to reply to the voice but all he managed to let out of his mouth was a groan. John turned to one side to try and stand up. Within doing so, he managed to stand up for twenty seconds, and within his first step his injured leg buckled underneath him in great pain. Upon hearing John's collapse, Sherlock rushed to his friend's aid. "I'd thought you'd know by now not to try and stand up after a bullet through the leg being an army doctor and all."

"How do you know about my past life?" asked John with his back towards Sherlock, "How did you…" John turned around finding himself face to face with his friend, Sherlock Holmes.

"Surprised to see me?" Sherlock's face beamed with a smile, "Bet you didn't…" 'Smack'

"Ow! What was that for?" Sherlock reached up to feel his numb cheek.

"That was for deceiving me, your own friend." John then was too overwhelmed with joy to keep it in himself any longer. Launching onto Sherlock in a big friendly hug, John wept into Sherlock's shoulder, not in grief but in ecstasy. Sherlock, feeling awkward at this gesture paused for a brief moment, then wrapped his arms around John and patted him on the back.

"Um… you wouldn't mind if I just go to the kitchen would you? I've got tea on the hob and it should be ready by now."

"Oh… right. Sorry." John said pulling himself away from Sherlock, "I'm just so glad that you are alive. What were those men after for anyway?"

"They just wanted to know where I was so that they could locate me. Just some of Mycroft's men." Sherlock poured some tea into two cups, "He always suspected I was still alive. He's just that type of annoying brother."

"Aren't you bored? I mean you've been here on standby without any interesting cases for a long time."

"Do you know why that is? That's because I have been waiting for this moment so that we can get back to business again. Don't you see? Now that you're here, we can solve crimes together." Sherlock put two lumps of sugar in his own cup before bringing them towards the table.

"So what you're saying is…"

"What I'm saying, John is that I need you for any upcoming challenges. I mean another person's view is very helpful in inquiries." Sherlock takes a seat in front of John and sets the cups of tea down in front of each other.

"Oh. So it wasn't what I was thinking then."

"What were you thinking John?"

"I was thinking that you would have wanted me to be by your side as a friend during the investigations." John leaned forward and picked up his cup of tea. A second moment of silence occurred.

"Well and uh… that too I suppose."

"Really?"

"No. But while we are at this subject is there anything _interesting_ that is happening so far?"

"Not that I know of. I've been knocked out two times or more, how am I supposed to know?" At that moment John got a blinding headache and reached his right hand up to his temple. A sudden rapping against the door interrupted them from their conversation.

"Yes, who is it?" Sherlock asked as he approached the door.

"Ah. Hello Sherlock my dear brother. I was coming to see whether John was alright. Sorry about that officer he was always a bit dodgy in the head." Mycroft walked in through the doorway. "I didn't mean for him to…"

"Not now Mycroft. John and I are discussing things over tea."

"Would you care to join us?" John interrupted.

"Well, why not? It's only a cup of tea, right Sherlock?"

"Very well." Sherlock gestured towards a seat next to John on the couch. Mycroft leaned his umbrella against the wall next to the couch and took a seat. Sherlock then graciously moved toward the kitchen to make another cup of tea for his brother.

"That looks bad. Are you feeling alright John?" Mycroft pointed toward John's leg.

"Yeah, thanks for asking Mycroft." John repositioned himself on the couch as Sherlock sat down.

"What are you doing here Mycroft? You wouldn't have come here if it wasn't for your job." Sherlock leaned back and crossed his leg, "Why would you come here to see me?"

"Well apart from seeing if John was alright, I came to tell you some little advice." At that moment John leaned forward and rubbed his injured leg feeling a crepe bandage wrapped around his lower calf.

"And what's that Mycroft, stay out of my business? Blah, blah, blah. Is that it? If so bye, bye Mycroft." Sherlock got up to grab his violin and started plucking the strings.

"No Sherlock, my advice is to stop trying to make a fool of yourself." Mycroft got out of his seat and grabbed his umbrella. "By the way I informed DI Lestrade and his team that you were still alive and were up to solving some more crimes. And now I think I should leave. My government needs me back at my station. Good bye Sherlock. John." Mycroft stride through the doorway. Sherlock and John waited until Mycroft was really gone to start up their conversation.

"Why John? Why did you invite him to join us for tea?" Sherlock implied waving his arms about like a maniac. "Why?"

"Well, Mycroft usually doesn't come over unless it's for a good purpose. Anyway we need a new case to solve. You should thank him, you know that." John stood up yet again to find himself stumbling over on his badly injured leg. Sherlock approached John and stopped a pace away as John braced himself against the wall.

"You know my relationship with my brother. You shouldn't try to interfere with these sorts of things anyway. It doesn't involve you and it doesn't need your help. I might have to change your bandage later this evening. I'll try to find something to help you with the pain."

"Thanks Sherlock." John walked over to the kitchen. "By the way Sherlock, you're out of milk."

"Yes I know, I'm going out this evening to the grocery store. Anything I can get you?" Sherlock replied as he went to the counter to grab his phone and keys. Sherlock then pulled up the collar of his favorite coat, tied his scarf round his neck and stuffed his keys into his pockets.

"No, not really."

"Alright then I'll be off and I'd advise you go to sleep. There's a spare bedroom next to mine. Go down the corridor, past the bathroom and turn to your left. There are some extra clothes in the wardrobe and all of your supplies are in the drawer next to the bed." Sherlock then turned around to leave.

"Er, Sherlock?"

"Yes John?"

"Where exactly are we by the way?"

"Oh, I thought you'd have figured that out by now. We're in the building right opposite 221B Baker Street. Bye." Sherlock left the flat. When John was sure he heard the door lock, John turned and struggled to go to his bedroom, leaning against the walls along the way when, at last he reached the bed. John flopped down onto the bed and was instantly compelled to sleep.

* * *

John dreamed about the day he saw Sherlock jump off the hospital roof. It was an utter nightmare. John tossed and turned as he pictured Sherlock's slow descent off the roof of the hospital where he had hit the ground and he confronted Sherlock's dead body.

* * *

_**AN: Please review!**_

_**Sherlocked Kat**_


	3. Chapter 3

John suddenly woke up and found himself covered with sweat. He felt hot and dehydrated. Throwing off the duvet, John sat up and found his leg covered with a new bandage. He pulled himself out of bed and went into the kitchen to get a glass of water. Checking the clock, John drearily slumped onto the couch. It was four o'clock in the morning. How could he ever go back to sleep? Deciding not to watch TV as it would disturb Sherlock from his sleep, John went back into the spare bedroom and got changed. Carefully choosing what to put into his pockets, John grabbed his keys, wallet, mobile phone and his 9mm Browning Hi-Power British Military Standard Issue Automatic Pistol. He then stalked through the room as quietly as a cat and slid through the open doorway. He carefully locked the door and went down the stairs. Down, down, the journey seemed to take forever what with the injured leg and all. He finally made it down at the bottom of the last flight of stairs when he exited, careful not to put so much pressure on his leg. Limping across the street, John made his way to a near-by Delhi as he was feeling a bit peckish.

* * *

Gazing from his bedroom window, Sherlock sighed. He missed his best friend. It was only the first night and John was already sneaking off in the early morning. Pulling back the curtain further, Sherlock eyed John going down to the Delhi. Something was not right. John hardly went there. The only time they went there together was when they were in the middle of solving the case that John so called 'The Study in Pink' on his blog. Even in that situation, they hardly had time to eat a meal as they were busy chasing a taxi. Another reason was that John hardly woke up at this time of night. Drawing the curtains back and slinking into the shadows of the room, Sherlock sat down at the edge of his bed and thought.

It was seven o'clock in the morning by the time John arrived back at the flat. John wasn't surprised to find Sherlock up and about. Sherlock would always do that. Closing the door behind him and locking it, the door made a loud 'click'.

"Good morning John." Sherlock said without turning around. "Would you care to tell me where you went this early in the morning?"

"Oh, I just went to the grocery store. I bought some biscuits for you." John held up his bag of shopping, "I hope you like Ginger Snaps. It was the only good thing I could find."

The fact that John was lying displeased Sherlock very much. Why had John changed? Was it the fact that John thought he saw Sherlock die and it disrupted him very much?

"I'll just put the biscuits in the cupboard shall I?"

"Go ahead." Sherlock sat down on his favorite seat. Frowning in thought, Sherlock gazed to his right at a copy of the Telegraph. As Sherlock was picking up and crackling the newspaper, John shut the cupboard door with a 'thud' and went to his bedroom. Emptying his bags, John found his laptop and took it outside to the living room. Taking a seat upon the couch, John placed the laptop on top of his lap, lifted the lid up and turned it on. Sherlock, still reading the newspaper grabbed his cup of tea and took a sip. For the next few minutes the room was filled with silence apart from the vigorous typing and the crackling of Sherlock turning the pages of the newspaper. Abruptly the telephone rang. Sherlock folded the newspaper and floated to the telephone. Picking up the phone and putting it next to his ear, Sherlock answered.

"Hello?" Sherlock tucked the folded newspaper under his arm, "Anyone there?"

"…"

"Ah, right. Tell me more, tell me more." Sherlock turned to face John with a grin crawling up his face.

"…"

"Hmmm… right I'll figure things out. Bye." And with that Sherlock hung up.

"What was that about Sherlock?" John called over his laptop.

"Oh, just Lestrade phoning me about a murder case. Apparently this murder case was intended for me." Sherlock paced about in front of the window, thinking contently.

"Great we'll go right away."

"No, we'll go later this afternoon. The press will be there and if I suddenly turn up on scene the reporters would have their suspicions about me. Anyway, your leg needs some more resting. What are you doing on your laptop John?"

"Just updating the blog."

"What? Oh." Sherlock would have smacked himself in the face at that moment. How could he have been so stupid? Of course that's what John was doing. That's what he'd always been doing back at 221B Baker Street before, aside from contacting friends and family. What else could he have been doing? Sherlock was beginning to have his doubts.

"Um… Sherlock?"

"Yes John, what is it now? Can't you see I'm thinking?"

"Well, may I ask how you survived the fall?"

"That is nothing of great significance. Isn't the fact that I'm alive enough?"

"I was just wandering Sherlock. No need to get it under your skin."

"Now let me ask _you_ a question, John. How did you feel after my supposed death?" John's typing stopped the moment Sherlock mention this subject. John slowly turned to face Sherlock.

"How did I feel Sherlock? How inhumane are you? I was devastated Sherlock, broken, sad and frustrated all at once."

"Frustrated? Did you say frustrated? You would only say frustrated if you were puzzled about something John. What was on your mind at that time? What were you confused about that would have made you that frustrated?"

"Sherlock, I was asking why you had to kill yourself at the time."

"John there were assassins aiming their snipers at you, Lestrade and Mrs. Hudson. I had to let them see me jump. I'm sure you understand." Sherlock ran through the possibility of what his action had caused John to change him slightly. "What happened to you after that John?"

"I had to see my councilor more regularly because of you."

"Have you been having strange events lately?"

"Why do you ask all these questions?"

"Well, why did you lie to me this morning? I mean, why did you suddenly wake up at four in the morning and took a trip to the Delhi? You've hardly been there John. Why now try to suddenly change your habits and lie to me? Also if you were taking a trip to the Delhi, why would you need to bring your pistol with you?"

"Sherlock I…"

"You've what?" Sherlock exclaimed waving his arms in the air. "You feel sorry? What?"

"I've just been having some bad dreams lately. That's all."

"That still doesn't explain why you lied to me." Sherlock pouted, crossed his arms and turned away from his friend.

"Lately I couldn't trust people and, I'm sorry Sherlock if you feel that way. I really am." A moment of brief silence broke the conversation. John finished typing on his computer and quickly turned the laptop off. Closing the lid, John swiftly picked up the laptop and went to his bedroom. John tucked the laptop under his pillow, just in case he needed to use it later on.

"What was the case about anyway?"

"Someone got stabbed multiple times in the chest inside the clock tower of Big Ben."

"And what's so special about it that needed your help?"

"For one the murder weapon wasn't found and two there was a message intended for me."

"That's sounds interesting. There's a great possibility that the murderer took the weapon with him."

"Why did you say him? It could have easily have been a woman. What makes you think it was a 'him'?"

"The victim was stabbed multiple times in the chest which suggests that the murderer was strong and angry. That implies that it was a male."

"But if someone was angry they would have an adrenaline rush and would have gained an enormous amount of strength. The murderer could have stabbed the victim in anger, panicked, took or threw away the murder weapon and ran off."

"Well, look Sherlock you don't have to boast about it to get your point through."

"I'm not boasting. I'm showing off, there's a difference you know." Sherlock got up to look through the window of the flat, "Also remind me to buy some nicotine patches. I fear I have a lot more thinking to do in the future."

* * *

**_AN: Please review!_**

**_Sherlocked Kat_**


	4. Chapter 4

It was three o'clock in the afternoon by the time Sherlock said it was time to leave. Packing all they needed, they walked down the staircase and closed the front door. Going onto the pavement, Sherlock and John walked further down the road to get a taxi. Walking past some shops, people started noticing Sherlock and kept pointing at him. Realizing people were starting to notice Sherlock, John nudged Sherlock on the shoulder and they began to run. Running as fast as their legs could carry them, John signaled for a taxi. It wasn't long before a taxi arrived. Opening the door for Sherlock, John felt like a footman. Why did he have to open the door for Sherlock? Why didn't Sherlock do the same for him? The answer seemed like a mystery floating in a river full of other mysteries. John pulled himself into the taxi and closed the door reluctantly behind him.

"Where would you like to go sir?" The taxi driver called.

"To Big Ben."

"That's a restricted area…"

"That I have authorization to. Don't you know who I am? I'm Sherlock Holmes and this is my friend Dr. John Watson. Don't you ever look in the newspapers these days?"

"The problem is Sherlock Holmes is dead. Prove to me that you're Sherlock Holmes before I take you anywhere."

"Argh, why should I? Can't you just drop me and my colleague off by Big Ben? We'll sort ourselves out from there."

"Fine." The driver cautiously reached for his phone.

"There's no point calling the police because we were asked to go to a crime scene. So just shut your jab and drive." The driver turned around, looked at Sherlock and his friend up and down, then turned back to face the front and turned the keys to the engine. Slowly the cab pulled away from the sidewalk and chugged along towards their destination. It was nearly four in the afternoon by the time Sherlock and his companion arrived at Big Ben. Sherlock got out of the taxi first, leaving the door open for John to exit. Guessing that this time John was paying for the taxi, John dug some notes from his wallet and shoved them towards the taxi driver. He then closed the door and ran up to Sherlock.

* * *

Michael Thornberry, a co-worker of the victim, discovered his body with his head crushed in between the gears of the clock and multiple stab wounds to the chest. What shocked him next was to gaze up at the inside of the clock face to find a message written in his colleague's blood. Panicking and reaching down to his trouser pocket to get his phone, he dialed 999 and contacted the police.

* * *

Twenty minutes later, Lestrade and his team arrive on the crime scene. As always, when the police was stuck, Lestrade picked up his phone to call forensics to come and examine the body. Arriving on the scene, Sherlock and John magnificently strode to the crime scene.

"Hello Freak."

"Hello Sergeant Donovan. Been sleeping with Anderson again? Hmmm…" Sherlock turned towards her and sniffed, "you've been using his shampoo and deodorant. Also" Sherlock turned toward Sergeant Anderson, "he's been forcing you to scrub his floors judging by the state of your knees." Sherlock pointed towards her bruised knees.

"Freak!" Sergeant Donovan said turning her face towards the body, tears streaking down her face.

"Now Sally, there's no point calling Sherlock a freak. Besides if you do, he might decide to leave this case for us to solve." Lestrade said.

"I actually never thought of that. Maybe I will. Good bye." and with that, Sherlock turned to grab John's arm and started to drag him away from the crime scene. John felt a stab of pain in his calf and let in a small breath. His calf felt as if it was on fire. Tightening his fist, he tried his best to ignore the pain.

"Wait!" A smile crept up Sherlock's face. Sherlock and John turned around.

"Sergeant Donovan will apologize!" Lestrade called going towards her and pulling on her arm, "Won't you Sally." He whispered towards her, not asking her but more like ordering her to do it.

"Forget it." Sherlock called, "I've already got another case waiting for me. I doubt she'll be able to even look up."

"Sherlock." John approached Sherlock tugging at his arm to grab his attention.

"Yes, John."

"You don't even have a case." John spoke under his breath into Sherlock's ear.

"That's the whole point John just watch what will happen."

"No, wait Sherlock!" Lestrade ran up to him "Just solve the bloody case already!"

Sherlock smirked, "And give me one good reason why I should solve it?" he asked sarcastically, waiting for the expected answer.

"Because…" Lestrade turned towards his team and back to Sherlock, "because the police are useless."

"Thank you. Now move aside." Sherlock walked towards the dead body with John tagging along behind him. Nearing the body, the forensic team and the rest of the police team shuffled aside, leaving a walkway for Sherlock and John to walk through. Just as they were moving towards the dead victim lying face down in his own blood, John tripped over someone and fell into the pool of murky black red liquid. Turning around John tried to see who tripped him over but could not see anyone who would have been able to. Pulling himself up, he attempted to rid his hands of the blood by wiping it on his jacket but only made things worse.

"Here John." A woman handed over some tissues.

"Thanks." John grabbed them and started to wipe his hands and jacket. Fortunately his jacket was easy to wash. Sherlock having already examined the body and the message thought of some ideas as to what happened.

"Judging by these stab-like wounds, I would say the murder weapon was a pair of tailor scissors. The murderer would have been a hired killer in disguise for his true job and this was just a murder to lead to another bigger, more interesting murder. The murder weapon, you would find, would be somewhere over there and there won't be any finger prints on it."

"Sherlock?"

"Yes John."

"Wouldn't that lead to Moriarty? I mean he fits the description."

"John you don't understand. It couldn't have been him. Moriarty shot himself in front of me." Sherlock turned back towards the victim and crouched down. Reaching into his pockets he pulled out his mini magnifying glass and waved it about the dead person's clothes.

"And I think I just found out who the murderer is."

"Who Sherlock?" Lestrade asked more eagerly than expected.

"It was his colleague, the witness. Although you'll find that he isn't here with us anymore and he has a fake identity." Turning around Lestrade barked orders into his walkie talkie and slowly walked away. John, feeling he had a pounding sensation in his head, dizzily walked over to a wall and leaned against it. His vision failing him, he slowly slid down the wall and sat. He reached up to his head and cradled it between his knees. Sherlock noticing the eerie quietness from his friend walked towards him.

"John?" Sherlock prodded John in the shoulder. "John can you hear me?"

"Yes I can hear you alright, stop shouting."

"John I'm barely talking. Are you sure you're alright?"

"Yes Sherlock just leave me alone." John said rubbing his temples, "I think I have a migraine coming on."

"Right I think we are about done here John. Come on we're _leaving_." Sherlock grabbed John by the arms and steered him towards the stairs.

"Sherlock I'm not feeling so good."

"Dear god Sherlock. What the hell's going on?" Lestrade said upon witnessing Sherlock tugging an unwell John behind him, "If John's not feeling good you should let him rest for a bit." Lestrade called out above all the noise the group surrounding the crime scene.

"That won't be necessary; he's not in that bad condition." Sherlock responded still dragging the unwilling John to the stairs and pulled out his phone. Sherlock was briefly texting someone when he shoved the phone back into his coat pocket and flew down the stairs. Sherlock, moving with speed found himself on the ground floor in a matter of seconds with John and Lestrade trailing along behind. As they reached the end Sherlock flagged down a taxi. Walking out onto the sidewalk, John was panting hard, sweat pouring down his face bracing himself on his knees. Sherlock pushed John into the taxi and was going to hop in beside him when he was abruptly stopped by Lestrade.

"Sherlock, I've been meaning to ask, why is John feeling so unwell? I mean he was from the military and he should have a very strong immune system."

"Taxi, wait for a minute." Sherlock turned around to face Lestrade, "Fine. I'll tell you if you are so intrigued in this subject. He was abducted and got shot in the calf the day before yesterday and-"

"HE GOT SHOT IN THE CALF! Sherlock he's in no good condition to walk about let alone follow you all over London." Turning around Lestrade marched back up the stairs and disappeared altogether. Sighing, Sherlock shouted after him, "I used one of my solutions from one of my previous experiments, and he's healing much quicker than an average human!" Lowering his head, Sherlock reluctantly climbed into the taxi and closed the door. Gradually the taxi drifted to Baker Street.

* * *

**_AN: I am currently in the middle of writing other fanfics and am in the middle of writing chapter 5! Reviews help!_**

**_Sherlocked Kat_**


End file.
